


Scene 1: Finn and Ani

by stele3



Series: A slave named Ani [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Finn/Rey - Freeform, M/M, Masochism, OT4, Poe/Finn - Freeform, Rey/Kylo Ren - Freeform, Submissive Finn, Submissive Kylo Ren, but they make do, massage therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stele3/pseuds/stele3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a colder day on the island—which means there is natural rain and a little dew on their half-dead plants—when Ani comes to Finn and says, “I want to hurt myself.” This is one of the many rules that Rey and Poe have created to hold Ani in place: you are not to hurt anyone; that includes yourself. If you need to be hurt, one of us will do it for you.</p><p>-o-</p><p>Here's the first of three epilogues to "The Fate of the Weak." TL;DR: Ani is Kylo Ren/Ben Solo, who has committed to being a 24/7 submissive to Rey, Poe, and Finn. OT4!</p><p>I also want to state openly that this is the first time I (a white writer) have ever written from the POV of a character of color. I only realized this recently: despite being in many fandoms with multiple CoC who I personally liked, I've never written one as a main character before and that's entirely due to my own racist lens. It's something that I'm working on and as such, I welcome all criticisms or notes you want to give me on the subject. I believe we need diverse representation in media and that 100% includes fanfiction.</p><p>Also, this is the first time I've written massage fic! I'm an LMT in real life and no, I don't have sex with my clients. Ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scene 1: Finn and Ani

It is a cold day on the island—which means there is natural rain and a little dew on their half-dead plants—when Ani comes to Finn and says, “I want to hurt myself.”

This is one of the many rules that Rey and Poe have created to hold Ani in place: you are not to hurt anyone; that includes yourself. If you need to be hurt, one of us will do it for you.

It’s just that Finn has never been _alone_ with Ani on the little prison-moon when that particular urge occurred. If Rey were here, they would disappear together and come back bloody and shaken. If Poe were here, they would come back bruised and a little disappointed. But Finn?

Nothing inside of Finn wants to hurt anyone, much less Ani.

“Let me think about that,” Finn says.

Ani nods his head, his face averted. He walks back to the dishes at the sink, and sets about washing them. It occurs to Finn too late that Ani has been doing a lot of the chores recently—he has his usual assignments, of course, they both do. But there’s been a particular fervent quality to Ani’s work in the last few days, as if by performing the many menial tasks that Rey and Poe leave for them every time they’re away, he can stave off whatever it is inside of him that howls for his own blood.

Watching Ani, Finn can’t imagine hurting him; but that is one of the rules. Ani isn’t allowed to hurt himself, so one of them has to do it for him.

He calls the Falcon.

Poe is the one who answers, thank the Force. Finn never wants to play favorites but in terms of actual _experience_ Poe is far and away the better Master.

“Poe! Poe, Ani wants me to hurt him. Well, he wants to hurt _himself_ , which means he wants _me_ to hurt him, and I don’t know how to do that.”

“Oh wow,” Poe says, and he’s already laughing. That’s such a relief. If Poe is smiling then everything is okay. Already, Finn’s whole body relaxes in response. “Okay. That’s great. He came to you and told you?”

“Yes.”

“Has he done anything to himself yet?”

“No…? I don’t know! I should have asked him, I should have checked—”

“Okay, don’t worry. I think if he had, he would have told you. If you see something on him, though, let me know.”

“Okay. But, sir, I don’t know—”

On the vidscreen Poe sits forward until his face occupies most of it. “We talked about this, Finn. If we aren’t there, you do what we say. That means helping Ani when he needs it. _Whenever_ he needs it. I know this is the first time. It’s okay if you make a mistake; one of us can be back there soon. But I don’t think you will. Can you take a breath in for me?”

Finn breathes in. Poe watches then asks, “What are you thinking?”

“I could—I’ve been studying the physical manipulation stuff recently? I don’t have the certificate, though, so I’m not sure—”

“No, that’s great. You’ve done it to me, I know that it hurts. I think that’d be perfect for Ani, too.”

“You—” Finn stutters, swallows. “I hurt you, sir?”

Poe’s face fills the whole screen, or seems to. “Yes. But it felt good, Finn. I know that you’ll do fine. So, the massage. Walk me through it, step by step. Wait, do you need me first?”

Finn hesitates. More than once _he’s_ been the one who needed a bit of release, and either Poe or Rey had obliged by ordering him to strip then remarking on his body extensively. Even suggesting that they might invite someone else—a _stranger_ —in the room to admire it, too, or take screenshots and sell them as pinups for lonely pilots. The idea of that, of being on display, had Finn squirming with embarrassment and coming all over himself in no time.

“Not…now, I think?” he answers, thinking. “Maybe afterwards, though.”

Poe nods. “I’ll be here, buddy.”

-o-

There’s a light rain falling outside, seeming to trap them within the narrow walls of the home that the Resistance allowed to Ani. They’ve improved it a lot in recent months: fresh paint, curtains hung over the windows and doors, actual furniture for more than one person. A squat couch occupies the wall near the door. Various objects—farming tools, cracked X-wing helmets, dozens of those strange little stick-people that Rey makes out of wire and fluff whenever she’s feeling nervous—cover every flat surface.

The place was definitely built for one occupant, and it’s quickly veering out of ‘cozy’ into ‘cluttered.’ They’ve talked about building an addition: in fact about half of their daily tasks are built around clearing and breaking the ground to the west.

Sometimes Finn wonders what the New Republic thinks of this: their best pilot, former general, and would-be Jedi messiah all building a home with Kylo, Knight of Ren in his prison moon.

He tries not to entertain those questions very long, least Ani pick up on them. Ani is nothing if not hyper-sensitive to the way other people feel about him.

Right now, for instance, he’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his big frame stooped yet still filled the doorway. Finn has cleared a space on the floor and covered it with blankets and pillows, and has been standing here wondering how to begin.

From the look on Ani’s face, he needn’t wonder any longer. Bless the Force for that, anyway.

“Come here,” Finn says, not sure if that’s supposed to be a command or a question.

Either way, Ani walks toward him. He doesn’t drop to his knees like he did for Rey, before. Finn actually feels a little grateful that he didn’t. He’s not sure he’d know what to do with that kind of total obeisance.

“Take off your clothes and lie down, facedown,” he says, gesturing at the assorted pillows at his feet. He’s not sure how lying down feels less of a surrender than kneeling, but somehow he thinks it does. Or he hopes it does.

He’s not after subservience. That’s not something that he thinks he can inspire.

Surprisingly Ani does lie down without comment or even his usual show of reluctance. It’s always a shock when he submits to Finn: they’d met as opposites on the scales of power, a Knight of Ren and a Stormtrooper. But maybe that’s the point: maybe Kylo Ren had always wanted to violate the order of things.

For whatever reason, he lies down, naked, at Finn’s feet, stretched out with his head turned to one side.

“Okay,” Finn says. “Okay.”

Crouching at Ani’s hip, he presses one hand against Ani’s shoulder. Against his middle back. Against his lower back. Against the soft points of his hip. His mid hip. His knee. His calf. His heel. All the places the teachers had proscribed as testing points of tension.

His upper back and thighs are extremely tight. Finn has been taught this pattern, he thinks. A slouched body that needs to open up the chest and tilt the pelvis forward.

Rising, Finn moves to kneel at Ani’s head. Ani’s eyes briefly flick up to him. His expression is hard to read—uncertainty, maybe, mixed with hopeful anticipation.

Reaching for the bowl that he’d prepared earlier, Finn slicks his hands then sets them to Ani’s skin, using long strokes to travel up and down his spine. The lubricant he has is from Ashifitar, a larger planet with many by-products. It’s a popular oil but his teachers warned him from choosing anything too early: try everything, they said, and you’ll find what works for you.

When he digs his knuckles into the thick muscles on either sides of Ani’s neck, he gets his first visible reaction: a grimace of pain softened by relief.

 _That_ , Finn thinks, is exactly what he’s looking for.

From there it’s a long slow drag down Ani’s back. Between the triangle of his shoulderblades is a bilateral nightmare: all that slouching has wound his trapezius and rhomboids and serratus posterior inferior into one giant knot from the nape of his neck to his midback.

Finn powers through it all with a fist pressed against Ani’s skin, the weight of his upper body behind the stroke. He’s still learning how to feel when a knot gives way; he thinks, though, that he’s always been able to feel that. His teachers tell him that he’s very intuitive, and he likes thinking that there’s something in him, already, untouched, just waiting to be discovered and used.

Whenever he says something like that to Rey, she smiles and nods very mysteriously. Which, no. Nope. Finn is _not_ asking any follow-up questions.

Reaching the top edge of Ani’s pelvis, he turns and drags his palm up over Ani’s ribs. This is a more sensitive area and he’s careful to lighten his pressure. Sure enough, Ani tightens up when Finn’s fist travels along the lateral edge of his shoulderblade towards his armpit.

“Relax,” Finn says, then draws in a breath and tightens his abdominal muscles. “Relax,” he says again, in the voice of someone who knows what he’s doing.

It works: whatever Ani was trying to protect, he turns it over into Finn’s hands. It hurts him, Finn can tell, but it _helps_ and Finn gladly ploughs through the knot then pulls back and ploughs through it again. Ani’s right rotator cuffs quivers then loosens, yielding to pressure and patience.

A fine sweat breaks out on Ani’s back. “Breathe how I breathe,” Finn instructs him, then breathes in deeply for eight seconds and holds it.

Rocking back onto his heels, he lifts Ani’s thick arm and draws it across his lap then spends a while kneading both sides of his shoulder joint. There’s some kind of injury, here, one that Ani keeps instinctively protecting; Finn keeps having to pause and gentle jostle his arm back and forth to remind him to relax.

After the third time Ani murmurs, “Sorry, sir.”

Finn twitches. It’s not entirely comfortable being called that title, even in this context. Part of him wants to jump up and run away screaming from the idea of being that responsible for Ani or anyone else—but then he looks down at Ani’s face, at the wavy black hair that’s growing out again and the delicacy of his closed eyelids. A rush of protectiveness pushes out the anxiety and he pauses in his ministrations to stroke the hair out of Ani’s face and rub one thumb across his eyebrow, roughing it up then smoothing it back down again.

Separating the muscles of Ani’s thick upper arm is difficult. There are so many nerves and blood vessels running through this part of the limb; normally Finn would ask the client if anything feels strange or sensitive, but that’s not going to work with Ani. Finn has seen him outright refuse to tell Poe his limits, something that drives Poe absolutely mad. If it weren’t for Rey, Ani would probably let one of them do real, permanent damage to him without so much as flinching. He’d probably _want_ it.

Finn breathes and keeps his pressure level to something that he thinks—he hopes—is therapeutic rather than simple pain.

A pink flush spreads down Ani’s arm, blood flowing into muscles that have been too long deprived. Despite the frequent sun on this moon, Ani has stayed fairly pale and his skin shows every mark, every bruise, every swell of blood beneath the surface. Finn rolls each of Ani’s too-large knuckles between his fingers, tugging gently. A couple of them pop.

Gradually Finn sinks into the work, a sensation that itself is not unlike submission. His hands seem to know what to do: they move as if guided by the Force itself, detecting hidden pressure points and finding avenues to unlock them. The thick jumble of knots around Ani’s shoulderblades softens and turns pink. The twin cords that race up his back on either side of his spine melt.

His thighs are more problematic. He has the over-stretched iliotibial bands of most tall humans. Finn has mostly worked on humans thus far—he’ll need to be certified in each species before he works on them, too—and the long, narrow iliotibial band is one of the most sensitive spots on their bodies.

It’s definitely one of the most sensitive on _Ani_ , who had been breathing with the depth of half-sleep before Finn sits on his own haunches and uses the balls of his feet to press into the side of Ani’s leg. Ani’s whole upper body hunches up, curling inward like a bug, and he lets out a sound halfway between a groan and a long hiss.

Finn makes a face but holds the pressure where it is. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—don’t tense up. Breathe. Breathing slow and deep, come on, breathe _in_ …and out…oh, don’t fight it,” he exclaims as the iliotibial band and the hamstrings start to peel apart only to tense up. Finn begins to rock his legs without releasing the pressure. “Don’t fight it, come on. Leggo, leggo, let _go_ —”

Something in Ani’s leg seems to sort of roll over. The tension in his body immediately releases and his back arches. Breath huffs out of him in relief.

Finn crows even as he leans forward to rub the skin lightly with his hands, circulating blood in and out of the newly-released tissue. “That was good, that was a _great_ release. Try breathing more next time, it’ll go faster and won’t hurt as bad, okay? It’s okay if you make noise, too, both of those things actually kinda distract the brain from pain sensors.”

“I don’t _want_ to distract from the pain,” Ani snaps, his voice muffled by the pillow but still audible. “Pain is the _point_.”

Finn hesitates. He’s heard Ani snap at Poe or Rey like that before, and their reactions were, well—it was pretty obvious what type of reaction Ani _wanted_. But it wasn’t one that Finn was willing to give him.

Taking his hands away from Ani’s skin, he sits back cross-legged and waits in silence. After a few seconds there’s a soft susurrus as Ani’s hair moves against the pillows, and he peeks through the strands.

Meeting that half-obscured gaze Finn tells him, “I’m not going to do anything else if you talk to me like that.”

It’s the only punishment he can think of that he’s willing to mete out. Even breaking up the knots of tension in Ani’s body comes from a place of healing, not hurting, no matter how painful the process might be. He’s not Rey or Poe. He can’t…do what they do, and be all right with it.

Ani turns away, pushing his face into the pillow. A frisson of tension runs through the air; Finn has just enough Force sensitivity to recognize a gathering of strength and he tenses, as well. Their first rule is that Ani doesn’t hurt anyone, including himself—but how would they know he had, if he used Finn to do it then erased his memory of the event?

Just as quickly, though, the crackle of air dissipates. Ani remains visibly tense and frustrated but he only says with great reluctance, “I’m sorry.”

Finn exhales, making his shoulders drop, and thinks that this must be a big part of what Finn and Rey like about their side of things: this contest of wills and the small victories they drag out of Ani. Finn knows he’s easy, he has no shame in it. But Ani, with his big, strong body and towering gift with the Force; Ani, with his mental knots that no amount of massage could undo; Ani is always a struggle. Less so, now. Only a few months ago Finn doesn’t even know that he would have _tried_ granting this request.

“Are you going to be more polite?” he asks, rising up onto his knees but not placing his hands.

Ani wrestles with himself now, but eventually says, “Yes, sir.” He sounds like he means it, at least.

Finn thinks that deserves a reward and coats oil over the back of Ani’s upper leg, his ass, and his hip before running his fist in one smooth line: back of the knee, along the iliotibial band, around the trochanter, and under the arch of the iliac crest. The entire path is full of knots, especially in the clumps of attachment points around the trochanter. Ani _howls_ , heaving in a deep breath as Finn completes the stroke, then howls again as he repeats it. His hips grind against the pillows below him but he stills and relaxes before Finn can even admonish him.

That presents a new conundrum. When Finn turns him over, Ani’s cock juts up toward his belly, full and hard and as intimidatingly large as the rest of him. Much bigger than Finn’s, but a) he’d been given libido suppressants since age twelve and b) Rey has made no pretense of the fact that she much prefers Finn’s size on the rare occasion that she wants something inside of her. Poe is more diplomatic, refusing to declare a favorite.

Even if Ani were a more…approachable size, Finn’s not sure he wants to approach. Their teachers have been very careful to explain that while some masseurs perform sex work, some do not. Both, they stressed, are valid. No one should feel _obligated_ to do so.

Finn doesn’t feel obligated—he’s seen enough of Rey’s scenes with Ani to know they don’t always have sex—but he feels _something_. Everything in him is so focused on Ani’s muscles, on the rise and fall of his chest, that he would swear he can feel the touch of his own fingers. As he delicately pinches Ani’s sternocleidomastoid, he feels referred pain in the edge of his own right eyebrow. There’s a kind of buzz in his left hand; one of his teachers said that his left hand was more “energetically open” than the right, whatever that means. Rey would probably smirk.

The inside of Finn’s head is mush, a soft place he goes to with Poe and Rey. He doesn’t even want to fuck Ani or ride his cock. He just wants to keep finding the places in Ani’s body that clung to their awful history and teach them to let go of their hurt.

Eventually there’s nowhere else to dig for knots without causing inflammation. If Poe or Rey were here one of them would fetch a light meal and a blanket. The best Finn can manage is a canteen of water and the warmth of his own body as he flops down against Ani’s side. It can’t be too bad, judging from the way Ani immediately curls into him and wraps his soft, full lips around the mouth of the canteen. Finn smiles, feeling like he could cry just from how _soft_ Ani’s face looks right now. He tries to pet it and mostly succeeds in poking his nose.

The nose in question wrinkles. Ani pulls away from the canteen with a soft _pop_ and slits his eyes open. He gets very sensitive to light and sound and everything else when he submits—something to do with the Force.

Finn can’t remember right now. He smiles in what he’s sure is a dopey way and settles in. If someone had told him years ago that one day he’d be lying on the floor with a naked Kylo Ren, just so happy to _see_ his soft, soft face, well. Depending on exactly _when_ this hypothetical soothsayer told him so, Finn probably would have been some degree of very angry. But here they are.

Ani grunts a little, squirming closer. His cock bumps against Finn’s hip. Maybe Finn’s mind has shifted slightly but it feels so much more natural, now, to reach down without even opening his eyes and curl his hand around that length of hot skin. Ani grunts again, twitching spasmodically; with his heightened senses, this must feel like a different type of torture. Finn tries to be gentle but probably mostly succeeds in teasing him, if the anxious tilt to Ani’s eyebrows is anything to go by.

“Ani,” Finn says, “Ani. I don’t wanna undo it all. I just got you soft.” That doesn’t seem to reach Ani wherever he’s gone. Finn hopes it’s as amazing as the mushy place inside his own head. He takes his hand off Ani’s cock and squeezes his elbow. “You do it.”

 _To yourself_ , he means, but Ani’s fingers go for the front of _his_ pants instead. Finn can only gurgle as his cock is pulled out and tugged; he’s not hard but it doesn’t take much to get him there. When the suppressants wore off he had what Poe called ‘a feather-trigger’; Finn has since gathered that it’s not seen as a good thing but he doesn’t mind, seeing as how that feather trigger had first brought he and Poe together.

More recently, though, Poe has been coaxing him to last longer by bringing him to the edge repeatedly. That’s why, when Ani’s hand starts to speed up, Finn jerks and yelps, “Stop stop stop.”

Ani yanks his hand away. His head jerks back, too, and he blinks wide, startled eyes at Finn. He looks so lost and confused, a frightened animal. Finn gives into the instinct to gather him up, kissing his still-ruffled eyebrow. “It’s okay, I just can’t come yet. Hafta…wait. Your turn.”

Ani’s still obviously skittish but after a moment his hand snakes between them again to resume pumping at his own cock. They’re tucked close enough together that his knuckles brush Finn, who groans and tightens his hips to keep them from grinding forward.

They trade off, Ani’s cock and Finn’s cock, Ani’s hand and, when he gets tired, Finn’s. It’s started raining again and a cool breeze wafts over their sweat, making them both shiver. Or maybe Ani shivers and Finn feels it, or the other way around. He’s not Force-sensitive, he’s really not— _shut up, Rey_ —but right now it feels like his melted brain has joined with Ani’s in a puddle on the floor.

Or maybe that’s just their pre-come. Whatever.

They don’t come together, not the slightly-frightening way that he’s seen happen with Rey and Ani. That’s all screams and clenched limbs and rolled-back eyes fluttering between their lashes. This—this is a gentle drift. Two bodies curled like parenthesis on the floor. Ani making increasing high noises in the back of his throat and Finn patting at him, saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay, go on, you first.”

Once Ani shudders his way through his climax, Finn can practically hear Poe’s voice in his head saying, _Okay, buddy, your turn_. He’d suspect that he actually _was_ hearing a voice in his head, except that—according to Rey—Poe is about as Force-sensitive as a potato.

Instead he suddenly remembers Kylo Ren whispering to himself in his dead Master’s voice and feels a wave of raw emotion for the man lying on the floor next to him. It’s too much for him to even decipher and it’s probably a strange thing to make him come; but he does, spilling over his fist with a gasp and getting most of it on Ani’s bare skin.

Ani wrinkles his nose again in displeasure but doesn’t deign to open his eyes or move. Whatever, he was living in his own filth before Finn got here. He can stand to have a little come dry on his belly before they peel themselves off the floor and clean up.

 _Good job, Finn_ , says the Poe inside Finn’s head. He smiles, and runs his fingers over Ani’s scalp, rubbing at the crown release points. Ani moans faintly. “Good job, Ani,” Finn tells him. “Good job.”


End file.
